302 MODERN PIG-STICKING 



The rustling river- side jungles, 



The glimpses of pig as they pass 

 Through the coolies' thin line when they bungle 



The beat in the jhow and the grass. 

 The sight of the boar as he pushes 



From cover, the rush of the deer, 

 And fast flashing over the bushes 



The blade of the spear. 



Do they still ride as boldly as we did 



Long ago when we hunted the boar ? 

 High jhow and blind nullahs unheeded. 



Unheeded the man " on the floor." 

 When our pay was in horse-flesh invested, 



When no one went straighter or harder, 

 When the Horse Gunners hotly contested 



First spears in the Kadir. 



The rifles lie idle in cases, 



The spear-heads are eaten with rust. 

 Old age leaves indelible traces. 



Life now is but ashes and dust. 

 I'm weary of much recollection. 



Youth, nerve, and digestion have fled. 

 But cheer up, there's a saving reflection, 



Some day I'll be dead. 



J. C. Faunthorpe, I.C.S. 



THE VOICES OF THE KADIR 



The voices of the Kadir that sound so sweet and strong. 

 How vivid are the pictures, how thick the visions throng. 



Who shall describe the beauty, the magic of them all 



In silent hours when memory's powers those happy days 

 recall ? 



Once more our muscles tauten, once more youth has its sway, 

 Once more with tingling pulses we tread the well-known way : 



On past the swirling river with splash of falling bank 



And clang of grey geese over that fly past rank by rank ; 



By yellow waving grasses, league long on either hand. 



With cloudless skies and sun-dimmed eyes and burning river 

 sand. 



